What with craziness on and another house inspection during the week and again this afternoon, the washing was beginning to pile up.
The house, being attended to twice a week is not looking too shabby. Our only issue, really, is the piling up of the washing. We are thinking of innovative places in which to hide it all during the inspections organised by the real estate agent. He was nice enough to afford us two on Thursday. Had I been around, I may have smothered him with the growing mountain of the clothes the kids need for school … the very same clothes that are rapidly declining in the Clean Clothes Pile.
Being Saturday, the day is exceptionally crazy anyway, commencing with a need to be out of the house by 7.30a.m. for the under 10s basketball game. Lunchtime features parkour, and, therefore, the need to decide whether to eat ‘lunch’ at 11.00a.m. or just a decent sized snack and have ‘lunch’ at 2.00p.m. on our return. We couldn’t possibly take snacks for the younger two to consume whilst Monkey Boy is participating in his class, as this would merely prove that I love them more than I love him …
(I know, I’m still trying to figure it out …)
Thus, the washing cannot even be considered until our return home. I unload the overflowing basket we’d stashed into the back of the car, tipped out the laundry basket hidden behind the door in our room, rummaged under beds and in the overhead cupboards in the kitchen (and guiltily hope none of the inspectees has actually opened a cupboard to see just how much cupboard space we have) and sort them into various piles around the house.
I opt for the 30 minute wash on the machine, although I’m fairly sure it’s not going to be enough to effectively clean. But we’re almost at the stage of wearing teh green shopping bags as clothing, so needs must.
The sequence in which I press the buttons and turn knobs in order to select this particular wash, and possibly combined with the exacerbation in which said buttons were pushed and knobs were turned, is the precise sequence that notifies the Rain Gods that I am, indeed, desperately in need of getting some washing done.
As I hit the Start button, what limited sun we had vanishes, and before the cycle can begin, we are hit with a deluge from the heavens.
I wander into the kitchen, and what with the day having felt so long, I sigh with relief – it is Wine O’Clock.
Except its not.
I glance down at my feet in an attempt to stem the tears and think about dinner. Homemade pizza is usually the go … well for Friday nights. But I’m going with it tonight.
As my head is down, I notice something odd …. yes … the oven door is missing.
This is going to throw a considerable spanner in the works pertaining to homemade pizza.
I’d like to feel that an oven door missing is considerably strange. But this is my house. It is normal.
I sigh again.
Every other day, time just gets away from me. Today, all I can say is “Where didn’t the time go?!”
My brain ceases to function effectively, evident by the fact that I spark up and say “I know!” with a bright smile on my face.
I follow this by turning my smile towards my older two children and add “Let’s work on your school projects! We have a few hours, we can get all the information done today and have them finished soon. And then we don’t have to worry about them any more! YAY!”
Inevitably, this resulted in the children leaping from their places of arse-sitting and into action.
Or, really, lots of grumbling and “this is stupid” and “I don’t want to” and “Can I just finish this level?” and he wasn’t even playing a game!
We do it anyway.
By the time dinner rolls around (I start it at something like 4.43p.m. because I am bored, have hung two loads of washing on the line between downpours, strung another load around the house and put another two loads in the machine).
My brain has been unable to contemplate anything other than homemade pizza. Well, it has but, as is typical, all ideas I can think of require a working oven. With a door. Not, you know, spaghetti bolognaise that I make at least 3 to 4 times every week as it is.
I. Just. Can’t. Think.
Then I remember I have a saute pan that I have been told can “double as an oven when you don’t have an oven”. Pfft, I thought. Then remembered this had been demonstrated to me with a “stovetop pizza’. Then I remembered this sort of pizza was a bit delicious.
Also, when I make homemade pizza, I use the recipe that I was given, but I put them in the oven instead. Usually.
Besides, by then it was 4.53p.m.
All I have to contend with now is the screaming three-year-old who is, lately, hell bent on being an arsehead.
“Have you finished being an arsehead?” I ask him, after his fourth screaming tantrum for the late afternoon, based entirely on him not getting what he wants. I.e. an argument.
“No,” he says.
At least I now know what I’m dealing with.